


Places Aren't Home

by bibliotaphist



Category: Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunk confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliotaphist/pseuds/bibliotaphist
Summary: John had the best of intentions: flirt with Liz, get her back to the BPRD, she and Hellboy get back together, the team is complete, and they can all get back to stopping the end of the world. Simple.Of course, nothing's ever quite that easy.
Relationships: Hellboy/John Myers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 78





	Places Aren't Home

**Author's Note:**

> something requested by a dear friend

Through the gloom of the ancient castle, Liz’s eyes flickered open. A sigh of relief bubbled out of John’s frozen lungs.  
  
“Liz?” Hellboy breathed. “You okay, kid?”

“Been better.” she pulled the drape tighter around her naked shoulders. “How did you--?”

“Later.” Hellboy cut her off. “First, we gotta get you out of here.” He threw a look over his shoulder, giving John a sharp double take. “Shit, Myers, you look like hell.”

“Thanks, Red.” His vision pulsed, the world blurring at the edges. Definitely concussed, he managed to think. He leaned heavily against the wall to keep himself from tipping over. “Can we go home now?”

Hellboy pulled Liz to her feet. “Think you can walk?”

Liz nodded, shivering. “Why’d they take my clothes?”

“Nazis are perverts.”

Fighting the urge to throw up, John tried to martial himself into action. One foot in front of the other, he thought, one foot in front of...

His whole face throbbed; his cheek was split open from temple to chin from the backhanded blow of the hammer. He gritted his teeth and immediately regretted it when he felt them shifting loosely in his jaw. A cold sweat beaded his forehead, forming itchy tracks through the crust of dried blood.

“...yers? Myers? John!”

John resurfaced. “Yeah?”

“You look like you’re gonna black out,” said Hellboy. Liz stared at him with a hand over her mouth.

“Fine, I’m fine,” he mumbled. He took a step. He promptly pitched forward, blackness obscuring his rapidly-widening view of the cobblestones.

When John opened his eyes, it was to the glare of cheap fluorescent lighting. Head throbbing viciously, he tried to twist his swollen face away, but somehow even that hurt. Something whined pitifully, and it took a moment to realize it was him. He hurt. _Everywhere._

The scrape of a chair being pushed back came from his right. John winced.

“Myers?”

“ _Hu_ _hg_ _,”_ he replied.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. How you feeling, rookie?” Hellboy hung like a candy-apple-red thunderhead on the edge of John’s periphery. _Who let him be that red? What kind of god makes something that red?_

“Like I got hit by a bus.”

“Welcome to the force, kid.” Hellboy swam gradually into view as John’s eyes adjusted. He flipped idly through a comic book, his blank-eyed copycat flexing across the glossy cover. His horns were still jagged and unfiled, and he sported a thick stubble. At John’s gaze, he glanced up.

“How long was I out?” John managed through the heavy gauze pads taping up his face. He felt lopsided, and his teeth ached with every word. The bone had likely been set by now, but he could still remember how the hinge of his jaw caught when it came completely off the screw.

“Couple days; they wanted to keep you under for a while. First Elder God sightings can make people go a little… screwy.”

“S’Liz okay?” John suddenly remembered. “How’d you get me back?”

“Like a sack of potatoes, princess.” Hellboy tossed the comic onto the bedside table, where it slid across a messy stack of it’s fellows. John noticed several dirty coffee mugs and used plates sitting in a precarious stack at Hellboy’s feet. “Oh,” Hellboy added with an air of distaste. “And Liz left some flowers for you, or somethin’.”

“Mm,” John hummed.

“They’ve been pretty worried about you.” Hellboy was looking faux-casually out the glass wall of John’s room into the concrete hallway.

“Not you, though.”

“I knew you’d be fine. You’re not that easy to put down.” Begrudging, maybe, but John could have sworn that was a compliment.

“Myers.” Hellboy’s tone cut through his numbed daze.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you aren’t thinking you and Liz are gonna work out.”

“What?” It was so out of left field, John’s lagging brain took a while to catch up.

“You and Liz.” he repeated patiently. He looked like he was trying to teach a trick to an especially dim puppy. “She likes you and all but… you’re not her type.”

Through the haze of the concussion and painkillers, it took a little while for the implication to gel. Hellboy looked at him incredulously as he began to laugh.

“Uh. Glad you’re taking it well.”

“Oh, Red,” John asked, somehow both delighted and crestfallen. “I guess that means y’two…?”

“We what?”

“You guys made up? You know,” he tried to make a ring with his index finger and thumb to demonstrate, but couldn’t find his hands, _“Bow-chica-wow-wow?”_

Hellboy stared at him with his mouth and eyes making perfect O’s.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” He was so viscerally horrified that John stopped grinning. “You think we--?”

“Well, aren’t you?” John floundered.

“No!” Hellboy was leaning out of his seat in astonishment. “Why would you think that?”

John’s brain chugged to compile his defense. “You wanted her back here so bad, I just assumed--”

“She’s like a sister to me, I’ve known her since she was twelve!” Hellboy was pacing the room now, not taking his eyes off John. “But, you _wanted_ us to get together?”

“Well, yeah.” John agreed obliviously as Hellboy started putting together the pieces.

“You were pretending to like her? Why would you do that?”

“I figured if you got jealous enough, you’d kiss, make up, n’we could all move on with our lives.”

Hellboy looked stunned, then doubtful. “Awful convenient, innit, Myers?”

“Mm?” he blinked, not understanding a word. _How much morphine did they give me?_

“Slick of you to try and play wingman now, after all the work you did to impress her.”

“Oh, my God,” John closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Red, how can you look at me, _this,_ ” he tried to gesture to his everything, but only managed to twitch a finger. “And think ‘Yeah, that’s a straight guy. Absolutely.’”

Hellboy didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. He sat down, slowly, blinking owlishly at him.

“So, you mean you’re--?”

“Gay, yes, Jesus,” John followed Hellboy with his head, and brain sloshed around like an egg yolk. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to filter out. “If I thought it woulda worked, I’d of happily been flirting with you.”

His eyes popped open. “Wait,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t s’posed to say that.”

They sat in loaded silence for what felt like an eternity, avoiding eye contact. Finally, Hellboy stood up, the chair groaning in relief.

“Well, goodnight.” he said quickly, and walked out the door.

John looked at the ceiling for a long time, face burning, before he finally managed to fall asleep.

“Oops.”

When John was finally cleared for duty, he didn’t see Hellboy for two weeks. His shifts were the same, but by some strange providence, Hellboy wasn’t in the places Hellboy would usually be. When John visited his room, there was a distinct smell of cats, where there’d miraculously been none before. The mirrors were turned around or draped over with dirty shirts. The stink of asphalt hovered like a fog; he’d been sanding his horns a little too hard recently.

He had to be avoiding him. John was almost relieved.

His plot began as a ploy for team cohesion, but now, he was in deep.

It’s so obvious! he thought. If he could get Hellboy and Liz talking again, the tension would ebb, they could all work together, and the world didn’t have to end. Sure, it was meddling, but if playing Liz’s boytoy was all it took to motivate the big red jackass, wasn’t it worth it?

He liked to think he’d made a good show of it; he liked Liz. He thought he was helping. But, Classic John, he’d made an even bigger mess than he started with.

Walking into work had been nervewracking. Almost immediately, Liz pulled him aside to “talk”. Sweating bullets, John followed her into the corridor.

Gently, she took his hand, and told him “This isn’t working out.”

_Relief._

“It’s nothing you did, I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now.”

“I understand.” he squeezed her hand back, “HB mentioned something about it while I was laid out.”

Liz sighed, rubbing her forehead. “That jerk. I’m sorry, I told him not to talk about it till you were feeling better.”

“It’s okay, he was,” he paused. “Diplomatic about it.”

He didn’t ask her where Hellboy was, though he was sure she knew. “Is he… doing alright?”

Liz gave him a sad look from her heavily-lidded eyes. She didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

The graveyard was a dignified, veteran affair, filled fence to fence with picket rows of identical marble headstones. It wasn’t flashy, but neither was Professor Broom.

The plot devoted to the BPRD was tucked in a back corner, hidden away by a grove of cherry trees. The graves were older, less well-maintained. Swathed in a blanket of shadow, much like the department itself. In the dark of the pre-dawn hours, John could have walked right past it.

He hadn’t been back since the funeral, just under three months ago, and he regretted it. He’d known Broom less than half a year, but the hole he’d left behind was wide and raw. They all felt it, in one way or another.

Hellboy, for example, was feeling it in his liver. He stood, swaying drunk, before the plain white column that denoted his father’s resting place. From where he stood, John could see the three-day stubble on his chin and the white core of his horns, cut down to the quick.

Overhead, the moonless night sky had taken on a faint indigo sheen. The lamps, lining the path in orderly seven foot gaps, were all suspiciously dark. Glancing at the ground, he noticed piles of broken glass and a slug from what appeared to be a .45. A peashooter by Hellboy’s standards, but it took care of any undesired lighting. He’d made that mistake once, and the TMZ chopper had hovered over Central Park for days.

John stood under a tree, several yards away, feeling like an intruder. Nervously, he clasped an unclasped his fists, mulling it over.

Despite the doubts, John made his way down the row of headstones to stop at Hellboy’s side. The demon didn’t move, head hanging to his chest as he stared blankly at the marker.

“Hellboy--”

“ _AAAAAAAAAAUGH!”_

John hit the deck like he was ducking an air raid, flinging up his arms. Nothing happened, and after a second, he dared a look up. Hellboy was staring at him, eyes glazed over and confused.

“What the hell, Red?” John demanded

“Dammit, Myers, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Hellboy barked, “I was almost asleep!”

“You can sleep standing up?”

“I’m standing up?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he straightened, looking at the bottle hanging from Hellboy’s loose fist, squinting at the label. “What is this, straight nail polish remover?”

“S’the good stuff.” Hellboy said without conviction. He turned back to the tombstone.

“HB?” John pressed gently, trying to soften his next words. “How long has it been since you showered?”

“Whatta you gettin’ at, Myers?” he slurred reproachfully.

“You stink, man,” John replied calmly. “Like a tar pit.”

Hellboy grumbled something under his breath, but wasn’t sober enough to be properly annoyed. John sighed. Time to break out the secret weapon.

“Look, HB,” he said, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the tombstone. “Professor-- your dad, asked me to keep an eye on you. He’d stick his foot up my ass if he saw you like this.” Carefully, he slid the bottle out of Hellboy’s slack fingers. “Why don’t we just... go home?”

“Don’t you get it, Myers?” Hellboy’s voice sharpened accusingly through his drunken fog. “Places aren’t home. It’s people.” He nodded toward the grave. “Home is right there.”

“What about us?” John immediately regretted the question, backtracking quickly, “I mean, Liz and Abe?” _What about me?_

Hellboy was silent. When John looked up at him, a jolt shot up his spine.

Fat tears dripped down his hawkish nose and into his beard, lips pressed into a thin line. John immediately dropped his gaze, too stunned to speak. They stood in silence as Hellboy wept silently, shoulders hunched around his ears.

Slowly, John lifted one hand, and laid it cautiously on Hellboy’s shoulder. Without hesitation, Hellboy swept one bearish paw around his shoulders and dragged him into a crushing side-hug that would have been terribly awkward if it wasn’t so heartfelt.

Stunned, John let himself be held. He felt the sharply aborted sobs as Hellboy choked back, and heard the loud, wet sniff as he drew his arm across his face.

“You morons are all I got,” Hellboy smelled like baked beans on top of old sweat, but John was willing to forgive it. “Don’t even think about dying on me, Myers.”

“No one’s dying on you, Red,” John wrapped one arm as best he could around Hellboy’s broad back. “How about we head back? It’s nearly morning.” Hellboy didn’t protest, which John took as silent acceptance. Knees buckling slightly under Hellboy’s weight, John turned their feet towards the lightening sky.

By the time they staggered back to the Bureau, morning was well and truly dawning, and John was beginning to sweat. He was trapped in the crook of Hellboy’s armpit. Less than ideal, considering he didn’t think he’d seen a shower in coming on a week. They stood, sandwiched together, in the tiny elevator, listening to the soft hum of the motor.

They drew some odd looks from the personnel they passed on the way to Hellboy’s bunker. John could feel his faltering steps growing more confident, starting to swim through the liquor. At the door, John keyed in the code, and the massive steal door opened sluggishly.

The harsh fluorescent light silhouetted them from the hallway, their shadows stretching over dirty laundry and sleeping cats. Hellboy had sobered enough to look embarrassed. “I, uh, didn’t think it was this bad.”

“It’s okay,” John reassured, leaning down to scratch his favorite cat, Parda, between the ears. She slitted her eyes open, chirped softly at him, and went back to sleep. “I was heading out anyways. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“Wait,” Hellboy said suddenly. John froze.

“Yeah?”

“Stick around for a while, will ya?” Hellboy gripped his stone wrist, eyes darting towards him sheepishly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about...” he paused meaningfully. “Something.”

John instantly tensed. Schooling his expression, he replied “Go get cleaned up first. I’ll wait here.”

Hellboy hesitated, but gave in, obediently plodding to the bathroom. The door shut with a click, and after some fumbling, John heard the water come on. Sighing anxiously, he sat down on one of the chairs not filled with cats. He knew what this was about.

Parda gave a luxuriant stretch, picking her way through the mess to rub against his shins, leaving white hair on his slacks.

Hellboy stayed in the bathroom for a long time; after the water turned off, John heard the soft whir of an electric razor, and loud gargling.

The door swung open, and he emerged, blessedly, wearing a shirt and sweatpants. It would have been too cruel for him to come out, shirtless, to explain why That was Not Going To Happen. He’d sobered up some, and opened the fridge, retrieving a can of Monster bigger than John’s forearm.

“Want one?” he asked.

“That’s okay, strokes run in the family.”

“What, this? Totally harmless, I drink six a day.” He popped the tab and took a pull so long that John’s face slowly took on an uncomfortable tinge. “You need to live a little, Myers.”

“People keep telling me that.”

Hellboy carefully wove through the piles of sleeping cats, a few giving him the stink eye for disturbing them. The armchair across from John’s held a small pile, and Hellboy shooed them gently before sinking into it.

There was a beat of silence, though not an uncomfortable one. Hellboy took another contemplative sip.

“So,” he began. “How long have you...” he trailed off, waving a finger.

“Uh, I mean,” John rubbed the back of his neck, ears burning. “Not too long. I mean, how do you measure something like--” he stopped and muttered, “Pretty much since day two.”

“Well, shit, Johhny boy, all you had to do was say something.” HB took a casual swig and swatted him on the arm.

“Beg pardon?”

“You heard me.” Hellboy flashed him a grin, the first John had seen since Broom’s death. “I’m seven feet tall and bright red, and you’re surprised about that?”

“I just, I wasn’t--” John had to lean back in his seat. “I have so many-- Why did you act so weird, when you thought I was flirting with Liz? If you didn’t feel that way about her?”

“You think I was gonna let some scrawny puke get his feelers in her?”

“You just said--”

“Maybe I _like_ scrawny pukes.” Hellboy slid his eyes away. “Who’s business is it but mine?”

John leaned forward on his elbows, holding his chin in one hand. Brow furrowed, he tried to process the thing set in front of him. The train had jumped the tracks, and he was getting taken along with it.

Mistaking his silence for discomfort, Hellboy shifted in his chair, the closest to nervous John had ever seen him. “Listen, um. Don’t worry about it, Myers, we don’t gotta--”

“No, it’s not that!” John sat up so sharply Hellboy jumped. “It’s not that at all!” I just,” he rubbed his mouth. “I really need to apologize to Liz.”

Hellboy stared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. He laughed so hard he had to lean forward in his seat, wheezing. John gave him a disgusted look, and when Hellboy saw it, he laughed even harder.

“Shit, Myers, that’s what you’re worried about?” he wiped his eyes, coughing.

“She deserves to know!” John shrilled defensively. “I feel really bad for leading her on, and before we start anything, I want it to be above board!”

Hellboy shook his head, chuckling into his drink. “You Boy Scout. No wonder Dad liked you.” A beat of silence hung over the room at that, Hellboy’s eyebrows furrowing slightly. “He did like you, you know.”

John smiled. “Thanks, man.”

Reluctantly, he rose from the chair, brushing off his slacks. “Well, I should probably get going. Something tells me you could use some sleep,” he glanced disapprovingly at the empty can in Hellboy’s hand. “Or something.”

“Right, right,” Hellboy jumped up to walk him to the door, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

John turned around to answer, and found them chest to chest, Hellboy leaning on the wall with one arm. Not boxing him in, nothing so threatening. Simply a gentle curve of his spine, leaning down so their foreheads almost brushed.

“Hey, uh, Myers. John?” he wouldn’t meet his eyes, lids lowered in a bashfulness John had never seen before. “Thanks, about tonight. It… helped.” He licked his lips. “Would you mind if I--”

Cupping the curve of his jaw in one hand, John guided Hellboy in to press their lips together.

Hellboy stiffened, then relaxed, jaw softening as he welcomed John in, eyes drifting shut. The kiss wasn’t particularly deep, or hard, and over much too quickly. Hellboy’s hand drifted to his hip, body molding around his, a column of heat, a tightly-controlled flame. Rather than open his mouth to him, John made himself to pull away. He gave Hellboy a lopsided smile.

“’Night, Red.” he murmured.

“Morning, sunshine.” Hellboy breathed, mouth quirking.

John huffed a soft laugh, giving his hand a final squeeze. Behind him, the vault doors slid open with a soft hiss. With a final wave, he turned down the long concrete corridor, grinning.


End file.
